No Fairytale
by flibertygibbit
Summary: Rated R for adult concepts. Dark.


No Fairytale 

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Jim Henson Productions. I just took them on a not-for-profit walk.

And all of a sudden the party was over. The instant she heard the sound of the key in the front door all her friends vanished. Ludo from where he was sprawled on the end of her bed, goblins draped with streamers, even Hoggle…

"Sarah? Are you still up? We're home."

"I need you in my life. Hoggle, Sir Didymus, please…"

But there was no answer.

She slipped the pages she'd written into the old red book for safekeeping. Her stepmother tapped on the door, and came in.

"Toby's fast asleep, and so should you be, it's past midnight. Have you been writing another story?"

Sarah nodded dumbly and got up, reaching for her nightgown.

The older woman sighed, thinking that she'd never be able to reach the teenager, no matter how she tried, but for the girl's sake she kept trying. She had tried to talk to Sarah about her mother's death, to convince her that she had no reason to blame herself, but the girl just retreated further from her. Her husband had laughed off her suggestion of therapy, saying,

"She's a teenager – all teenagers go through a moody phase. She'll grow out of it. I don't want to encourage it."

But she was convinced that this was more than normal teenage angst, as she watched Sarah retreat further and further from everyone – family, friends – except for Toby. So far she'd not mentioned to her husband the small sums of money that went missing from time to time. She didn't really have any proof.

"I really do appreciate hoe much you help out with Toby. He's going through such a difficult stage right now."

"S'okay," Sarah mumbled.

"Here's your pocket money. I'm sorry I forgot to give it to you earlier. Oh, and your father said he'd be up in a minute to say goodnight."

Sarah took the proffered notes and turned away sharply. She heard her stepmother sigh again and knew that it had been taken as a sign of rejection, but she just couldn't face her, in case she guessed the truth.

"Well, goodnight then."

And she was alone again, for the moment. She quickly tucked the money away in a box hidden at the bottom of her wardrobe. Her hoard was growing, and soon there would be enough, what with the money she'd stolen from the housekeeping. She felt bad about that, but it was the only way she would ever get enough money in time. Maybe one day she would have enough money to pay her stepmother back. After all it wasn't her fault.

She struggled with her tears. It wouldn't do to be seen crying when he came up. Resolutely she turned off the light and climbing into bed, pulled the covers right up to her chin. Lancelot was small comfort, though she hugged him as if her life depended on it.

"I wish the goblins really would come and take me away, right now."

The goblins stubbornly continued not to appear, as they had done the hundred other times she'd said the Right Words that evening. And the evening before, and the evening before … she'd heard the call of an owl in the woods nearby, and held her breath for long moments. But the Goblin King in all his sartorial splendour had failed to materialise.

She stiffened as the door opened. He came in and turned on the bedside light.

"How's daddy's girl?" he asked, brushing her hair back from her face.

She could smell alcohol on his breath. If he'd been drinking then maybe he wouldn't stay long.

His hands moved down the bed, taking the covers with them. The night air was cool and she shivered as they brushed back up her legs, pushing her nightgown to bunch at her waist.

She wouldn't look at him. She wouldn't look at him.

"You know, you're a bad girl to make me do this – a little slut, just like your mother."

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut out his words, trying to stop the tears from leaking out. He was on her now, pulling aside her panties, forcing himself inside…

_"Sawah fwend."_

_"That's right, Ludo. Friend."_

_"Dear Lady," said Sir Didymus._

Then he was gone. It was over. She pulled up her blankets tightly, trembling in the dark. She felt ill, but she needed to wait. Finally the house was in quiet darkness, and she crept into the bathroom, falling to the floor beside the toilet and retching. When her stomach finally stopped heaving she pulled herself up shakily and ran a little cold water in the basin, splashing her face. Trying to clean herself up as best she could, she scrubbed at her bruised flesh with a flannel until it was almost raw.

"No," she said to herself, "it wouldn't be long now." In a couple of months she'd be sixteen. She rehearsed again the words she would say as she left.

"You have no power over me."

The End


End file.
